


a beautiful web

by CaptainSway



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSway/pseuds/CaptainSway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Well,' Irene wiped the tears from her eyes, the look of defeat vanished. 'This has been <i>very</i> interesting. I'll be taking my phone back now, Mr Holmes.'</p><p>-------</p><p>A different take of A Scandal in Belgravia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a beautiful web

**Author's Note:**

> I have far too many complaints about how A Scandal in Belgravia was done, so I decided to take the basis of the episode and rewrite several parts of it. I hope it manages to fill in some issues others may have while still conveying the message of the overall episode.
> 
> I must thank [afrogeekgoddess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AfroGeekGoddess/pseuds/AfroGeekGoddess) for the beta - it was very appreciated!
> 
> I also have to thank [Ariane DeVere](http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/26320.html) for the wonderful transcript. I changed a little bit, but it definitely took a lot of time off my hands.

'I'd tell you the code right now, but you know what? I already have.'

Sherlock's mind whirled. What was the code, what had she said? The game was on, starting from the moment he heard of Miss Irene Adler. He couldn't make out anything about her, other than the fact that she paid attention to details, was bold, confident, unashamed of her body or her ego, yet tried to appear older than she actually was, and she knew some of his tricks. But how? How had she known?

All right then. Facts: Miss Irene Adler, 31 years old, five foot four inches, dominatrix, actress, mistress, The Woman, measurements - 32-24-34... wait.

That's it. She _had_ told him after all. She exposed herself and thus exposed the secret. The secret to the safe. Why? Why had she shown her hand like that so readily?

No matter.

The fire alarm was off and John was still outside the door, making sure Adler's assistant, Kate, didn't come back in. Sherlock punched in the passcode and looked back at Adler, smirking.

She looked away.

His eyes narrowed. After opening the safe door, he ducked. The hidden gun went off, hitting the wall behind him.

John burst inside, 'What the hell was that?'

'Nothing, John,' Sherlock replied calmly, grabbing the phone from underneath the gun and pocketing it as Adler looked at his friend. 'Absolutely nothing.' He started walking away as Adler rushed past him to inspect the safe. John looked back and forth between the two of them and then went to go back outside before Sherlock, who turned around and smiled at Adler. He took the phone out of his pocket and flipped it in his hand.

'Well, that's the knighthood in the bag!'

'You were very observant. I suppose I should be flattered,' she responded with a sly smile.

'Flattered? Don't be. It was a pleasure, Miss Adler, but I do believe this is what I came here for. Good day,' Sherlock put the phone back in his pocket and sauntered out the door, victorious.

Until he felt a pinprick in his shoulder.

He looked down. Kate smiled sweetly back, pulling the small syringe out of his arm and Adler gave him a hard shove from behind, sending him crashing into the wall.

Disorientation set in quickly and he felt his legs give out.

'Sherlock?' He heard John's voice from far away, thick and faint. He felt as if he were underwater, drifting downward.

Adler's face floated above his. 'It was a pleasure, Mr Holmes,' the visage said as he felt something rummaging in his trouser pocket. 'But I do believe you have been bested. This phone is my life. It's my protection. Do not presume I would give it up so easily. No, no, don't try to get up.'

Sherlock felt her fingers softly stroking his face. 'Remember this. This is how I want you to remember me, as the woman who _beat_ you. Good night, Mr Sherlock Holmes!'

Everything went black.

\-------

He dreamt of her. She solved his previous case in a frenzy, running back and forth before saying admirably, 'A boomerang. You got all that from one look? Definitely the new sexy.'

She cooed him back to sleep, gently. 'Hush now. It's okay. I'm only returning your coat.'

Sherlock jolted awake.

'JOHN! JOHN?'

His friend came, picked him up off the floor and put him back in bed before leaving, ignoring his ramblings about seeing Irene Adler in the room.

Neither of them noticed the lipstick mark on Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock started to drift back to sleep.

Until he heard a moan.

\-------

 _Till the next time, Mr Holmes._

\--------

That woman kept _texting_ him. John's infuriating count was tuned out for the 35th time. Why he cared, Sherlock didn't know. This was just another element of _the game_. She was taunting him, tempting him. She wanted him to respond.

If he did, he lost.

\-------

'Bond Air is go, it's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk to you later.'

\-------

 _Mantelpiece_

\-------

Sherlock stared at the phone in his hand, before grabbing his own and calling his brother.

'Dear Lord, we're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have we passed a new law?'

'I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight.'

'We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.'

'No, I mean you're going to find her dead,' Sherlock could only reply in a hushed tone before ending the call.

John opened the door halfway through their conversation, speaking after Sherlock hung up. 'You okay?'

'Yes.'

'Anything I can do?'

'No, John. Go back to the party.'

\-------

'We found a massive amount of blood inside Miss Adler's house,' Mycroft started the conversation the next day after calling Sherlock over to his home.  He was sitting in the armchair, watching his younger brother pace back and forth in front of the window.

'How much blood?'

'Roughly 2.13 litres.'

'You're sure?'

'Positive. Several CIA agents tried their hand at obtaining the phone, despite my orders, and ended up opening fire on Miss Adler after she attacked one of them. They must have hit her, for there was a trail of blood leading to the bedroom where she fell, and subsequently bled to death.'

'Where is her body then?'

'Her ever-loyal assistant managed to drag her body to the window and escape before the agents could make their way inside. They witnessed her stumbling down the alley, carrying a blood-soaked Irene Adler along with her.'

'Then she may not be dead.'

'Need I remind you how much blood a human of her size can lose before they die of blood loss?' Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'Besides, the DNA was confirmed to match that of Miss Adler.'

Sherlock was silent for a moment. 'Why was the CIA after her? They would not be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. What else did she have? There was something else on that phone, something you're not telling me.

Mycroft sighed, 'It is no longer any concern of yours. Irene Adler is dead as are our problems.'

Mycroft smiled, watching as his brother huffed angrily and moved his gaze to outside the window. He looked desolate. Desolate enough that Mycroft paused before getting up to stand beside his younger brother, holding out a cigarette.

'Just the one.'

'Why?'

'Merry Christmas.'

Mycroft lit the cigarette for Sherlock, watching silently as he took a drag, and then asked, 'How did you know she was dead?'

'She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.'

'And where is the item now?'

Sherlock didn’t answer.

'Why do you care so much about this woman?' Mycroft expressed his confusion.

Sherlock gave him a derisive look. 'Who says I _care_?' He turned away and took another puff. The room was silent except for the sound of Sherlock exhaling the smoke into the air. 'Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?'

\-------

'Well, you barely knew her.'

'Heh!'

Barely knew her. That's a good one.

\-------

'He's on his way. You were right; he thinks it's Mycroft.'

\-------

 _I'm not dead. Let's have dinner._

John was aggravated. 'If anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay!'

'Well, I am!' the woman looked unashamed by this fact, eyebrows raised as if she was waiting for him to challenge her. 'Look at us both.'

A moan was heard. _The_ moan Irene put on Sherlock's phone. John started forward when he saw his friend rush away, but Irene put a hand out to stop him.

'I don't think so, do you?'

No, she was right. There wasn't anything John could do for Sherlock, no matter how much he wanted to go to him right now. Sherlock was so sullen after the death of Irene that the sudden reappearance must have been quite the shock. He wasn't used to dealing with _feelings_ , as John liked to point out, but John wanted to help him nonetheless.

'So,' John started, after he was sure Sherlock had gone, 'what do you mean 'look at us both'? You're saying you actually are attracted to Sherlock even though you're gay?'

'Is that a surprise?' she asked, looking at him pointedly. 'He's an amazing man with an amazing brain. I wasn't lying when I said brainy is the new sexy. However, my sexuality cannot take into account the love I feel for him.'

'Love. You love him? We're still talking about Sherlock, right?' he asked, incredulous.

Irene sighed softly. 'We're kindred spirits, him and I. We recognise each other for who we are. It's not love in the most direct sense between us.' She smiled. 'There's the love of the game, afterall. The love of our pride, power, control. I may be attracted to him, but that does not define me. Just like the opposite doesn't define you.'

For the third time since Irene Adler walked into the room, John Watson was speechless.

\-------

'So. She's alive then. How are we feeling about that?

'Happy New Year, John.'

'Do you think you'll be seeing her again?'

\-------

 _Happy New Year  
SH_

Irene stared at her phone for a brief moment. Then smiled.

She won after all.

\-------

Molly stared at Sherlock, 'Whose phone is it?'

'A woman's,' Sherlock tried to make his answer as polite as possible. He was exasperated. Putting such devices in a phone? That woman was far more serious than he expected.

'Your girlfriend's?' Molly questioned apprehensively.

Sherlock glanced at her, 'You think she’s my girlfriend because I’m X-raying her possessions?'

She looked nervous, laughing to cover up her mistake, 'Well, we all do silly things.'

'Yes,' he paused, before turning around to face Molly in excitement. 'They _do_ , don't they? _Very_ silly.' He pulled the phone out of the X-ray machine and grinned. 'She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games.'

'She does?'

' _I AM ---- LOCKED_ ' came up on the screen and Sherlock typed in '221B'.

 _WRONG PASSCODE. 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING._

He huffed.

\-------

'Sherlock...?'

'We have a client.'

\-------

'What can you do, Mr Holmes? Go on. Impress a girl.'

\-------

' _Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven...._ '

\-------

 _Jumbo jet. Dear me Mr Holmes, dear me._

\-------

'Let's have dinner.'

'Why?'

'Might be hungry.'

'I'm not.'

'Good.'

'Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?'

'Oh, Mr Holmes... if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?'

\-------

'The Coventry conundrum. What do you think of my solution?'

\-------

'Mr Holmes! I think we need to talk,' Irene started walking closer to the brothers, looking far more confident than Sherlock had ever seen her.

He replied, 'So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not clear on -'

She cut him off, walking past him, 'Not you, Junior. You're done now.' Irene stopped in front of Mycroft as Sherlock stared at her in disbelief of her rejection.

'There’s more... loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures, and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and there's exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother,' she smirked.

Mycroft looked away.

\-------

They relocated to Mycroft's office, Irene sitting across from the older brother as the younger sat in an armchair, staring aimlessly into the fireplace. Sherlock confirmed every safeguard she took for her phone, dispelling any doubts Mycroft may have about Irene Adler's cautionary tactics.

'We destroy this then. No one has the information.' It was Mycroft's second-to-last option.

Irene shrugged. 'Fine. Good idea... unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn.'

'Are there?'

'Telling you would be playing fair. I’m not playing anymore,' Irene looked at him sharply, and then pulled an envelope out of her handbag. She pushed it across the table to rest in front of him. 'This is the sum of money I want. It shouldn't blow too much of a hole in the wealth of the nation. Then again, I highly doubt that.'

Mycroft read it with eyebrows raised, and exhaled.

She smiled. 'I imagine you'd like to sleep on it.'

'Thank you, yes.'

'Too bad.' Her tone went stern. He looked at her, surprised. Sherlock snorted quietly in amusement. It wasn't every day someone else managed to put Mycroft in his place.

Irene stood up. 'Off you pop to talk to people. I expect the money in that account by tomorrow. I shouldn't need to tell you that there is no reason to try and trace it after the transaction.'

'You've been very... thorough,' Mycroft said, sighing and sitting back down. 'I wish our lot were half as good as you.'

'Thank you, Mr Holmes,' her grin turning shark-like. 'And I'm sure Jim Moriarty sent his love to you already. Oh, and to you as well,' she said, turning to Sherlock who raised his head slightly at the mention of the criminal.

'Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my _attention_... which I'm sure can be arranged,' Mycroft's voice lowered dangerously.

'I had all this information, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consulting criminal. He's very amusing, likes to cause trouble. Didn't even ask for anything. Now _that's_ my kind of man. Do you know what he calls you? 'The Ice Man',' she breathed at Mycroft, staring intently before turning in Sherlock's direction, 'and 'The Virgin'.'

Sherlock's eyes closed.

'And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees,' Mycroft said, dismayed.

His eyes opened again.

'Nicely played,' his brother continued, standing up to concede defeat to Irene.

'No.'

Both Irene and Mycroft paused and looked at Sherlock. 'Sorry?' Irene asked, grinning in disbelief.

'I said _no_. Very, _very_ close, but no.' He stood up and walked up to Irene. 'You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.'

She laughed. 'No such thing as too much.'

'Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side,' he looked down his nose at Irene, showing his teeth as if he were a predator circling his prey.

'Sentiment?' Irene prevaricated. 'What are you talking about?'

'You.'

She smiled on. 'Oh dear God, look at the poor man. You don’t _actually_ think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?'

'No,' he whispered, stepping closer to her and taking her wrist in his hand. She frowned, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as he leaned in to whisper into her ear. 'Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated.' He let go of her and grabbed the phone from where it sat on the table

'I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive,' he said, turning and walking a few feet away. Irene trailed after him. 'When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe – your measurements, but this...' he flipped the phone in the air. 'This is far more intimate.'

He turned on the phone, opening it to the pass code screen. 'This is your heart,' Sherlock stared right into Irene's eyes. 'And you should never let it rule your head.'

Sherlock could see the panic look in her eyes as he started punching in the code. He continued, 'You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for, but you just couldn't resist it, could you?' He started pressing the buttons more aggressively.

He smiled in triumph, 'I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.'

'Everything I said, it’s not real. I was just playing the game,' Irene whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

'I know.' He punched in the last character. 'And this is just losing.'

He turned the phone towards her. It read ' _I AM SHER LOCKED_ '. She gazed at the phone, in despair.

The phone blared. ' _WRONG PASSCODE. 0 ATTEMPTS REMAINING. SHUTTING DOWN_.'

All three of them stared at the phone.

'What?!' Sherlock exclaimed.

'Well,' Irene wiped the tears from her eyes, the look of defeat vanished. 'This has been _very_ interesting. I'll be taking my phone back now, Mr Holmes.'

'No... no, that can't be right!' he fumbled with his words. 'You're attracted to me, that much is obvious!'

'A little too obvious, don't you think?' she straightened her dress, before gently removing the phone from Sherlock's loose grasp. 'Just as you said, this is my _heart_ and I should never let it rule my head. I'm not new to the game.' She glared at him before softening her gaze and tone. 'I do find you a fascinating man, but my heart belongs to someone else.'

She laughed, 'I almost cannot believe how vain you are! You know, Mr Moriarty actually did suggest that passcode; thought it would make for a good laugh. I'm glad I changed it before I sent it to you. It would have been a little _too_ easy if that was actually the code.'

'How are you supposed to get back into the phone now?' Mycroft asked, reeling from Sherlock's failure.

'Oh, it resets itself. I took the chance that he wouldn't waste all the attempts on a mere supposition, so the data is still on here. Don't you worry. In another hour or two, the phone will turn back on and the security screen will come back up again,' Irene waved the phone in Mycroft's direction.

'The Coventry conundrum was just a _taste_ of what I can do, Mr Holmes. It was one of the problems I couldn't solve on my own, so I sought out your dear, little brother to crack it for me,' she smiled coyly at Sherlock before looking at Mycroft with a serious expression. 'Then I had to use Mr Moriarty to show you just how dire your situation is. If you attempt to come after me, if I so much as spot a single agent walking down the street, I will send my camera phone straight to him along with the passcode.

'The sum of money I require from you is for my silence. Mr Moriarty also paid me for a little information and a little mischief, but I find that I have more important things that require my time and I need far more than what he gave me for what I intend to do.' She grabbed her handbag and put the phone in a secured pocket.

‘And what exactly is it that you intend to do?' Mycroft asked.

'Disappear!' she started to walk away, but hesitated before she got to the door.

'You know, you were wrong,' Irene said, looking back at Sherlock. She walked up to him, locking her eyes with his. 'Love is not a dangerous disadvantage. It was my heart that defeated your marvelous brain. And it was my heart that defeated the great British government over there along with the consulting criminal. I did all of this for love. Not just for the love of the game, either.'

She wove her hand into Sherlock's hair, pulling his head down to kiss him deeply. She pulled away and leaned back in to whisper, 'You are quite the catch, Mr Sherlock Holmes. Now that I know what your lips feel like, I have enough fuel for a few fantasies.'

Irene Adler smiled one last time. 'Sorry about dinner,' she said, before strolling out the door.

Victorious.

\-------

'He despised her at the end. Won’t even mention her by name – just 'The Woman'.'

'Is that loathing or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters.'

'He’s not like that. He doesn’t feel things that way... I don’t think.'

'My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?'

'I don't know.'

'Neither do I... but initially he wanted to be a pirate.'

\-------

'Miss Irene Adler was true to her word then,' Mycroft perused out loud, twirling his umbrella in his hand, sitting in John's chair as usual.

Sherlock sat in his own armchair, plucking away at his violin. 'So she disappeared?'

'Completely. We lost track of her at the airport and my agents were unable to locate where she was heading.'

'Are you sure that was a wise decision? She did say she would send the phone to Moriarty if she spotted your agents.' Sherlock raised his eyebrow in a mocking manner to make his brother uncomfortable. He knew it worked when Mycroft twisted his face in displeasure.

'I'm fairly confident that she won't from this point on. I've ensured my superiors that she will not be a liability to this nation any longer. Miss Irene Adler outwitted the both of us once already; I am not likely to make that mistake again.'

Sherlock laughed. Typical Mycroft.  Irene Adler was a formidable foe, to play him, his brother, _and_ Jim Moriarty like that all at the same time, and it had to be a blow to Mycroft's ego to admit defeat. Sherlock, on the other hand, was elated.

What a beautiful web she wove and it was all for a love she wanted to protect. He had shown his loss when he sent her that text on New Year’s, but it was for recognition of her as someone he cared for. He realised when she supposedly died that he was heartbroken in a sense. The loss of someone just like him. Unbearable.

However, _this_? This exceeded all expectations. She was truly an equal and someone to be feared. And he _loved_ it.

He couldn't say the same for his older brother who was so used to standing at the top, lording over everyone and everything.

Mycroft stood up, leaning a bit on his umbrella. 'I must apologise again for putting you in her path-'

'Do spare me your theatrics, Mycroft. They are both unwarrented and unwanted, I assure you,' Sherlock snapped back, accenting his anger with a harsh chord from his instrument.

Mycroft raised his head with a hard smile - the one he usually wore when dealing with his irate brother. 'Of course. Excuse me.' His smile softened. 'Although, you must know the sentiment still stands. Good day, Sherlock.'

Sherlock stared after his brother as he left the room. His fingers hovered over the violin strings, too surprised to move.

Sentiment. That _word_ again.

He sighed and put his violin away. Everything about this affair was throwing him off, straight down to the core. The elation began to wear off and he started to contemplate and sort all the unexpected emotions he had since he first met Irene. Disappointment settled when he realised he would most likely never see her again.

He heard a moan.

Sherlock paused for a moment, before standing up and pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket.

 _Goodbye Mr Holmes_

There was a picture attached to the message.

Irene Adler had her hair cut close to her shoulders, wearing a large grin that held none of her mischievousness from before. She was dressed rather plainly in an old tee-shirt and jeans and was sitting on a couch in a nondescript room. Her arm was wrapped around the waist of a young, dark-skinned woman whose full lips were stretched into a matching smile, large and full of happiness.

Sherlock smiled back.

He opened up the menu on his phone and downloaded the picture, and then turned to the window and laughed.

' _The woman._ The _woman_.'

\-------

'So what is the passcode anyways?' the dark skinned woman asked after her partner sent the picture. She wrapped her arms around Irene's neck before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

'I can't tell you, Goldilocks,' Irene grinned, showing all her teeth.

' _Godiva_ ,' the other woman replied, without too much heat, taking the teasing for what felt like the millionth time. 'I don't even _have_ blonde hair!'

'You know, neither does _that man_.'

'Sherlock?'

'It means 'fair haired',' Irene said, playing with Godiva's hair. 'And you saw what his hair looked like. Black as ink, just like yours.'

'You still haven't told me what the passcode is.'

'And I won't!' Irene raised her eyebrows, in all seriousness. Godiva scrunched up her face into a pout, so she began to clarify. 'I can't. You're far too precious to me for that, and I know one day, someone will try looking for the phone again. If you don't know the code, then they'll have no reason to look for you.'

Godiva sighed in understanding, though the look of hurt still didn't leave completely. Irene pressed a kiss to her brow before pulling Godiva's head to her shoulder. The other woman's arms unwrapped from her neck and settled in her lap as she leaned against Irene in comfort.

Later, when Godiva was asleep, Irene pulled out the camera phone from between the couch cushions behind her.

' _I AM ---- LOCKED_ '

Irene kissed the top of Godiva's head, smiling into her hair, and typed in ' _G...L...D...I._ '


End file.
